


July Writing Prompts

by Mafief



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Gen, Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-11-22 20:58:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 9,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11388282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mafief/pseuds/Mafief
Summary: Ficlets for 2017 Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts and most chapters are unrelated.  The chapter, title, and prompt for each chapter are in the notes.





	1. Second Opinion

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter - Title - Prompt  
> 1 - Second Opinion - Watson injury (any severity), from a different POV than Holmes.  
> 2 - Catacombs - summer in the city  
> 3 - Banned - Overheard  
> 4 - Banned (Part 2) - To the Makeup Table!  
> 5 - I can see just fine - Note to Self  
> 6 - Busy as a bee - Poetic License  
> 7 - Dreaded hours - Midnight summons  
> 8 - Garden Plot Mystery - Everyone Loves Sharing Their Expertise  
> 9 - One, two, three, half turn - I Never Get Your Limits  
> 10 - Puzzle - Do Not Take the First Cab, Nor the Second, But the Third  
> 11 - New Understanding - The Bard  
> 12 - The Life of an Umbrella - For the Want of a Brolly  
> 13 - Meteor - picture prompt  
> 14 - An’ we’ll all hang on behind - Ensemble  
> 15 - Banned (part 3) - Blood on the Snow  
> 16 - Advertisement - Picture prompt: Submitted Without Comment  
> 17 - Remembrance - A cardboard box  
> 18 - City Chase - Whump Watson woefully with an alliterative injury  
> 19 - The Guard’s Recommendation - I Came Here to Talk About the Red-Headed League and I’m Honestly Feeling So Attacked Right Now.  
> 20 - Purple Hyacinths - ’Tis But a Scratch  
> 21 - Nor A Sam - Music hall songs  
> 22 - Disobey or Obey - Healer's Choice  
> 23 - Feather - Exhaustion  
> 24 - Dusting - No Ghosts, Demon Hounds, Vampires, etc. Need Apply.  
> 25 - Nudge - What's the worst that could happen?  
> 26 - My Master - The Devil's Caprice.  
> 27 - Paper-Fasteners and Chewing Gum - Improvised Tools

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JWP #1 - Watson injury (any severity), from a different POV than Holmes (meaning Mrs. Hudson, Scotland Yard, Baker Street Irregular, The Villain (whoever he/she may be), etc.
> 
> Watson gets a paper cut and Mary helps.

"Ouch!"

I looked up from my needle point and spied my husband sitting back in his desk chair glaring daggers at his finger. "John, whatever is the matter?"

"It's nothing, Mary." He said in an irritated tone. 

"Clearly it is something or you would not have made that noise."

John sighed and turned towards me. "It is only a paper cut, dear."

Setting my needlepoint away, I rose to go to him. "You poor thing. Let me look at it and see if I can help."

"Mary, it is truly nothing to be worried about."

"Nonsense. You are injured, you are clearly incapacitated, and you need a second opinion. You do realize that doctors surely do make the worst patients." I stated with as much over-the-top concern as I could muster while I walked the short distance between us in our sitting room. 

He held out his hand as he tried to stifle a smile that was threatening to appear. 

I took his hand and tried my best to keep my examination serious and occasionally making noises of disapproval. This task was difficult because all the while I was trying not to burst into giggles at the absurdity of this. I finished my task and looked in to his warm, blue eyes. 

"Well, miss, will I live?"

It was hard to keep a straight face, but somehow, I managed. "I believe we will have to amputate." 

At that, he pulled me down and kissed me. We gave in and giggled at ourselves. 

"In all seriousness, Mary, it does hurt a little. Do you mind patching me up with a little plaster?" John said a little sheepishly.


	2. Catacombs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For JWP #2 – summer in the city  
> It’s hot outside (of course). Watson is hot (and so done).

It is as if the literary gods are playing a prank on me by offering a clichéd beginning of a story. Of course, it was the hottest day, of the hottest week in London’s recent memory. London had an uncanny ability to retain the stifling heat and the night was no welcome relief. Even with my experience in Afghanistan, I did not enjoy the heat. 

That night, I was running through the city in the middle of the summer chasing the newest criminal focus of Holmes: a gang of forgers. We had been pursuing this gang relentlessly that week. I had very little sleep and very little food and, as a result, my mood was rather dark. 

The final encounter with the gang, as Holmes had planned it, was in the catacombs of a church. The gang had their forgery operation housed here. Entering the catacombs, the cool air swept over my body and sent shivers down my spine. It was the most welcome relief and cleared out the fuzzy cobwebs of my mind caused by heat and lack of basic bodily requirements. 

The resolution of the case was swift and exact. The gang members were shortly lead away by Lestrade and his men. Sitting on the floor, leaning against the stone wall I reveled in the coolness. “I cannot take another day of this heat. I think I shall move in here.” Declared I. 

Holmes replied, “Good man, you are talking nonsense. Come home and take a cool bath, it will improve your outlook tremendously.”

Completely ignoring that statement from Holmes, I continued, “Yes. I should do marvelously here, now that you have evicted the former occupants. I can add a lamp there, for reading by torchlight is ridiculous.” I waved at another spot in the room. “I think my bed can go here. I will need to get use to spiders and corpses, I suppose, but…”

Holmes, cutting my future abode planning session short, stated, “If you wish, now that the case is complete and I have nothing further to attend to in London, we can find someplace cooler to visit. We can leave tomorrow, if that suits you.”

Mollified, I accepted and abandoned any further thoughts on appropriate interior designs for catacombs. As fate would have it, for fate was far kinder that the literary gods, a message awaited us at Baker Street summoning Holmes to Norway and I, thankfully, escaped a summer in London for a far cooler place.


	3. Banned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Overheard. Eavesdropping and its possible consequences (be it misunderstandings, hurt and anger, something awkward taken totally out of context, whatever).
> 
> A scandalized curator bans Holmes and Watson from a museum.

_Two more hours and my shift is over. Two more hours and I’m back home in my chair, in my place, and reading my books. Oh, saints preserve us, it is curator Cox and he’s got his handkerchief out. Now remember, Tim, be polite and the quicker I can take care of whatever bee is in his bonnet the sooner I can get home._ “Curator, what seems to be the problem?”

“Palmer!” Came the high, shrill voice, “you are just the man I’ve been searching for. We’ve had a disturbance! It is a blight on the proud history of this fine museum. There are two gentlemen, at least they appear to be perfectly normal gentlemen, but no! They are not! Palmer, they need to be removed this instant!”

“Good heavens, what can possibly be the problem? I’m sure I can set it right again, sir.” I put my hand on his wide shoulder trying to calm the short man as he was worrying at his handkerchief. Cox has always reminded me of a rockhopper penguin and a very excitable one too.

“Palmer, it is a disgrace! I overheard them talking about, about _murder_.” Cox barely vocalized the word murder. 

“Oh, well, I think I see the problem.” No, I did not see the problem but that was not the right thing to say to this excitable man.

“Think of the children! How they and their parents would be scandalized by their talk. It is not appropriate. But it wasn’t just talk! When I moved to get a glimpse at these fellows, they were _demonstrating_. Palmer, it was an exceedingly scandalizing scene. I must provide you with a full description so you can go and remove them immediately from this institution. The taller man was as thin as any and he had sharp features. No, aquiline, is more precise. His hair was black and his eyes were grey. He was mock demonstrating how a statue of one of our rare birds could be used to severely damage someone. Why would anyone think of such a thing! The other one, a slightly shorter man, was strongly built with light brown hair, moustache, and blue eyes. He was no better than his companion and was encouraging the frightful display. Now, go man and make sure these men know they are no longer welcomed in this establishment!” With that, he waved me away with his handkerchief. 

I left to do as I was told and hoped that this would resolve itself quickly so I could get home.


	4. Banned (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: To the Makeup Table! Focus on Holmes and/or Watson in disguise – for a case, or for any other reason.

After our unfortunate expulsion and ban from the museum, I had seen very little of Holmes. He left shortly before breakfast and returned after dinner to partake in a cold dinner. I thought very little of the events at the museum and kept myself busy by seeing the few patients from my dwindling practice. 

On the fourth day, he broke his new routine and sat with me at the breakfast table while supplying himself with toast. After a few bites, Holmes said “I hope that you are able to assist me on a little investigation. There has been a series of mineral thefts at museums across London. It is not a terribly intellectual matter, but Lestrade has asked me to look into these matters. I am certain that the museum which forbids our persons on the property, due to your suggestions, will be hit next.”

“Me? It was your idea to discuss the methods to injure a man with the assorted items in the museum.”

“Yes, but you encouraged me by suggesting items thus you are still sharing most of the blame. You also needed further convincing provided via a demonstration, which I believe was the ultimate reason we were ejected.” Before I could comment to defend myself, Holmes continued, “Now, I believe the thief has been doing reconnaissance at the museum and should be there today. With a little help from a disguise, we should be able to spend most of the day observing.”

Holmes added wrinkles to his face and donned grey hair and a great grey beard. By drooping his posture and supporting himself with a cane-now that his newly acquired personality had shaky knees that could not support him fully-he was transformed into an elderly man. The blue scarf draped around his neck accentuated the jerky movements of his new persona. I was charged at being his devoted grandson who was his physician. For the rare times I joined Holmes in disguise, I would often be some sort of doctor or military man. This made it easier for my untrained self to don a new persona. After Holmes made a few suggestions of how to carry myself to remove the military mannerisms, we set off to the museum via a handsom cab. 

Holmes looked absolutely pleased to find us where we been expressly forbidden to be. I dutifully played my part and kept my newly acquired grandfather from causing too much mischief. I was looking at some ancient leviathan when Holmes escaped my side. Catching up to him I said “Grandfather, please do not wander off. You know how the bird exhibit upsets you. Why not look at the mineral collection instead?” 

Holmes whispered to me as he pointed to a fossil trilobite, “There is that pernickety man who took offense to our conversation. He is accosting another patron of the museum. Watching him yesterday was an added perk as there were four people that offended his sensibilities.”

The short, stocky man was standing behind a display obviously eavesdropping. This man’s face was telegraphing his expressions as if he was shouting. He looked positively shocked at whatever he was overhearing and moved to take out his handkerchief. That white article of cloth was pressed to his mouth as a shield to keep the offending conversation at bay. As soon as his constitution could take no more, he was off to find the closest guard to see to the locus of his issues.

Avoiding the scene that was likely to occur due to the short man’s actions, we made our way to the mineral exhibit. The rest of our time was made by watching other patrons look at various crystals and relocating to different benches to give us different views of the surrounding area. At last there was a man who was taking far too much interest in the woodwork of the displays and measuring the distance between cases with his paces. With a smile, Holmes took note of the man and we departed to make further preparations.


	5. I can see just fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:Note to Self. Anything from a pencil jot on a paper cuff or a string on a finger to a modern sticky note or a cell phone alarm. Doesn't matter who the writer is, so long as there's something he/she needs a reminder for.
> 
> Retired Holmes sees a stack of papers addressed to him.

Note 1: Holmes, you have an appointment with the ophthalmologist today.

Note 2: You gave you word you would go.

Note 3: No, you cannot get out of it.

Note 4 (in very small handwriting): If you can read this, come find me and say the word discombobulate. I recently heard this word from an American and it is wonderful.

Note 5: You read the previous note with a lens, didn’t you? Please go.

Note 6: Pickup bread after your appointment.

 

Watson,  
Bread is on the table. I am outback reexamining my bees.  
-SH  
P.s. Remind me to take a walk with you now that I can see properly.


	6. Busy as a bee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Poetic License. A character writes poetry (doesn't have to be good poetry).

Searching for a medical textbook in our attic, I accidently toppled one of Holmes’ boxes. Cursing my clumsiness, I began putting away the pile of books. A small, faded paperback titled “Poetry Musings by S. Holmes” caught my eye. My friend’s early days were mostly a mystery to me and I eagerly started the first poem.

_She is as adventurous as a busy bee_  
_And as persistent as a small fir tree_  
_Her movements were like a fuzzy caterpillar_  
_She was as potent as an effective weed killer_

Maybe that is not the best example of this literary gem but the next proved to be no better. I descended to our sitting room to reconcile S. Holmes the consulting detective and S. Holmes the poet. Holmes was pasting scraps of newspaper into one of his common books. I started quoting one of the odd poems. 

Holmes gave me a look of utter confusion. “Watson, have you gone mad?”

“I thought you would recognize your own poetry.” I held up the little work. 

“You have made the mistake of theorizing before acquiring all of the facts. S. Holmes is not me. He was an uncle who favored writing eccentric poetry.”

“The are…”

“Dreadful.”

“No denying that. I was going to say bizarre.”


	7. Dreaded hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For JWP #7 – midnight summons. Midnight summons dreams of Maiwand.  
> Trigger warning for PTSD symptoms

Three nights. Three nights straight of unrelenting horrors which have irregularly plagued my dreams since Afghanistan. I am caught. My mind forces me to relive scenes over and over and over. No escape. No relief. What am I doing here? I don’t deserve to be here when others never escaped the sands. Every joint in my body is filled with sand. No matter what I try, I cannot get the sand away. My chest tightens at the thought. Each night I leave my bed to pace in hopes of exhausting myself into sleep. 

In the morning, I let the sun burn away the images that plagued me at night. I feel like an actor. I emote a calm mind and cheery spirit during the day while I dread the darkness summoned at midnight. 

During the quiet periods, my damaged mind betrays me. I see the faces of the men I’ve lost. I still hear the voices, the screams. Why do I deserve to be here when I lost so many on the field?

On the fourth day, my body surrenders to sleep while sitting in my chair. The sands fill my dreams again. I know I am in danger, I hear a man screaming. I need to escape. I need to fight. My fist connects with something warm and I am struggling against my captor. The scream takes shape into words.

“Watson!” 

I came back to London, to 221B, and to the sitting room. No more sand. No more deafening sounds. My fist was being clenched by Holmes. 

My body retreats inward in shame and I refuse to look into his face. He releases my hand. I fall into my chair burying my face in my hands as I try to calm my breathing. We exchange no words about what has happened. As soon as I could, I fled the sitting room and resign myself to another night of horror. 

On fifth and sixth day, I see little of Holmes. It's of no surprise; who could remain in a flat with a broken soldier like me? I am left to my mind and whatever images it conjures. 

On the seventh day, he stays in the flat. He again doesn't say anything of the event two three days prior but notices my exhausted state. Before the dreaded midnight hour, he moves to take up his violin and begins the process of tuning it. Once satisfied, he begins to play. The music surrounds and covers me in a blanket of comfort. It drives away my tightening chest and focuses my mind here instead of the desert sands. I begin to drift off. 

"Watson, if you are going to sleep, you might as well sleep on the settee." I move to obey and, as the music continues to play, immediately fall into a dreamless sleep. I awake to find that he has left and I retreat to my room.

The eighth, ninth and tenth day occur in a similar fashion. Each evening I fall asleep to Holmes playing. Each evening, my dreams of sand reduces and are replaced by the picturesque images that my flat mate's melodies conjure. 

I eventually return to sleeping in my bed instead of the settee. On the nights I pace to wear myself out, I hear violin melodies permeating my floorboards and calming my mind so I can rest. I am not cured but I have a way to cope. 

We never discuss this arrangement and there is no need. I know that he is telling me that I am safe and wanted here.


	8. Garden Plot Mystery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For JWP #8 – Everyone Loves Sharing Their Expertise. All of us have something we've learned about or practiced a great deal. Whether it's knitting, or horseback-riding, or a particular performing group, use one of your own hobbies or interests as the inspiration for today's work. And don't forget to tell us what it is in the notes!
> 
> Holmes starts a new garden plot and Watson is understanding.

First of all, this is not what I expected. While I am fine with Holmes’ experimentation, this was slightly outside his norm. Holmes had mentioned in the winter that he wanted to expand the garden for a project. For what exact purpose, he didn't say. When he mentioned expanding the garden I imagined a small patch that would be filled with other vegetables such as potatoes or perhaps aubergines. The potential of new varieties was exciting and I was eager to reap the benefits. 

He made his plans and, as soon as the ground was tillable, he set to work on the new plot. The first tip that this was an odd project was that the plot was larger than I anticipated, but that was fine considering the potential harvest. The second occurred after he planted. The plot was level and had little sticks labeled, not with vegetable names, but with numbers. Again, he did not mention what he planted and I waited until he was ready to reveal. The third was when the seedlings emerged. The entire plot was filled with the same type of plant-peas. I thought the previous number of pea plants we grew last year suited our needs and I did not understand why we needed an increase of this magnitude. Holmes had shown no previous overt love for peas in their various forms and I was only mildly fond of them. Resign to eating peas at every meal for the immediate future, I knew I would need inspiration with what to do with our inevitable bounty. I waited for him to explain further and was rewarded for my patience. 

One beautiful spring morning I was admiring the progress of the numerous pea plants and contemplating potential ways to use them. Holmes was in his gardening attire and was hiding his greying hair with a wide brim hat. He knew I was curious about these plants and, again, was able to read my thoughts. He explained that we would not be dining on most of these peas and that they were for an experiment. He was repeating experiments from an Augustinian friar. He had crossed pea plants and would tracked different characteristics, like flower and pea color, through subsequent generations. 

We had previously spent nights in Baker Street discussing Darwin's recent work and potential implications. This morning we focused on the friar named Mendel and the inheritance of these characters. As we talked, the scientist in him sparked to life. This being was stunning and ageless. I had seen it previously when he excitedly told me the results of a chemistry experiment and it was one of my favorites. He once again became a young man filled with wonder and awe at the world around him and the passionate drive to know more. 

As his excitement grew, he took me by the hand and introduced me to the purpose of different pea seedlings in his garden. He told me that the genius of this monk was his careful observation, meticulous methodology, and application of simple mathematics. Mendel was able to deduce the laws which governed how these characteristics passed to subsequent generations. He wondered if the laws that governed these peas were the same that applied to humans. In humans, was there a characteristic of criminality and was it inherited? His thoughts whirled as he considered the consequences of that idea. 

While I was initially disappointed with the loss of my dreamed harvest, I was content seeing my friend’s response to a new challenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love gardening, plants, and genetics. For this fic to make little bit more sense, Gregor Mendel’s work was rediscovered in 1900 and this was the beginning of modern genetics. Terms that are used today did not exist at that point. In 1905, the term 'genetics' was used and the word 'gene' wasn't used until 1909. So I’m using terms that were in Mendel’s manuscript.


	9. One, two, three, half turn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For JWP #9 - I Never Get Your Limits. A character's hidden talent saves the day. The talent, and the character, is up to you, as well as what constitutes 'saves the day'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I am clueless about Victorian dance etiquette and customs, so hopefully this makes sense.

I scaled the steps to my tenet’s rooms carrying the necessary coffee items. There were odd shuffling and stomping noises coming from the closed door. After knocking, I entered room to find Dr. Watson standing in the sitting room looking utterly bewildered. I wished him good morning before setting down my tray. 

“Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.” He paused, appearing to consider his words before continuing. “I was wondering, no, hoping you could help me. If, I mean, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

I keep telling myself that our doctor is kind and handsome fellow. This awkward nervousness certainly makes him more endearing. 

“Not to worry, sir, what do you need my assistance with?”

He pointed to a letter on the table. “I’ve been invited to a wedding for an army comrade. The invitation indicates that there will be dancing. Do you, by chance, know of anyone that could help me?”

With a small chuckle I said, “Of course, I had been a dance master in my youth before I married Mr. Hudson.” I smiled at the memory before continuing, “It was how we met.” 

His whole demeanor relaxed and seemed to brighten. Eagerly he asked “Would you mind showing me?”

After a few mishaps with my poor toes, Dr. Watson was catching on splendidly. A smile shone from his face and he was thrilled at his newly acquired skill. We were practicing another quadrille figure when Mr. Holmes burst through the door exclaiming “Watson! I’ve just come from…” before he stopped suddenly and stared at us. Quickly, before the moment was completely lost to awkwardness, I started. “Welcome back, Mr. Holmes. I was helping the Doctor with some dance instruction. Would you care to help?”

After quickly scanning the room, he stated “I perceive Watson’s been invited to a wedding. Mrs. Hudson, do you need musical assistance?”

“No, no. I need to see Dr. Watson’s body posture to check if it’s alright. Do you mind taking my place?” It was a poor excuse, but my poor legs were not up to all of this excitement. 

He might have hesitated, I can never be sure, before he took my position as the follow. I busied myself correcting hand positions and Dr. Watson’s body posture. Once satisfied, I had them begin on a waltz. As they continued, Dr. Watson continued to gain confidence and was positively beaming. Mr. Holmes, you cannot fool me as you try to hide your enjoyment. 

At the end of that lesson I could hardly keep from smiling. “Brilliant! Bravo! Dr. Watson, you care coming along wonderfully. You will both have to excuse me; the day has quite run away from me and I must attend to other duties. Mr. Holmes, you once told me that you knew how to dance. Do you mind continuing Dr. Watson’s lesson?”

“I should be delighted to.” I am fairly sure he said that more to the Doctor than to me. 

Taking my leave, I thought I certainly saw that expression on their faces and I can only hope that the most observant man in London and his Boswell saw it too.


	10. Puzzle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For JWP #10 - Do Not Take the First Cab, Nor the Second, But the Third. Close your eyes. Turn to your left and open them. Now incorporate the third item you looked at into today's work.
> 
> I spy with my little eye a matchbox car, an extension cord, and a jigsaw puzzle piece. A puzzle makes an appearance in Baker Street.

I spent the evening listening to various forms of disapproving grunts and sounds of crinkling paper emitting from my fellow lodger. I ignored him when he padded around the flat for various items and when he tutted as he passed me by. The occasional jab - such as “Why would you waste time solving a jigsaw puzzles when there is other brain work to be solved?” - floated my way but I disregarded the comments. It is true that I was assembling a jigsaw puzzle and enjoying the simple pleasure of restoring order from chaos. I had finished most of the scenic alpine meadow that night and left the cloudless blue sky to be tackled tomorrow. 

The next morning, I woke late and found the puzzle completed except for one piece. That piece was sitting on top of a note with a message in familiar scrawl. 

 

Left the last piece for you. I’ll pick up another one.   
-SH


	11. New Understanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: The Bard. We can't have a challenge without a little Shakespeare. Use a quote, a reference, or the man himself - it's all up to you.
> 
> Holmes departed Baker Street for a case in a forest and a troubled Watson retreats to that same forest to work out his troubles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: I’m using themes, characters, and phrases from _As You Like It_. Hopefully it won’t offend diehard Shakespeare fans (please be gentle!).

I gave Watson no indication of where I was going or why I was going or how long I would be away. He was the last person I expected to see wandering a path near the edge of the woods. Surely, he would recognize me at once as I was disguised as a peculiar, hobbling old man. Unfolding myself from my perch, I hobbled up to Watson humming. “Aye, young sir. You don’t look native.”

“No, I am not. I am from the city.” 

“You visit the Forest of Ardenne to find tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones and good in everything.”

“I’m here to come to a decision. What shall I call you?”

“Ganymede, or you may call me Ganymede the grateful, Ganymede the mediator, Ganymede the gallant.” I said with a twinkle in my eye. “Come back tomorrow and let’s see if we can help you with your decision.”

\---  
Watson came back for the next few days and we continued our odd banter. In the character of the strange wizard Ganymede, I allowed myself privileges that I would not have done before and asked direct questions. With this approach, I was slowly working out his burdensome problem. 

I peered down at him from my wooden stump. “Who is she that has you troubled and pinning like a young school boy?”

“This person..." He hesitated. "Is at home and we can refer to this person as Gabriel.”

“God’s messenger? That’s a lofty name for any folk.” I scoffed, “And what does this Gabriel think of you?”

“That I am a useful tool and an obedient dog.”

I barked with laughter while inwardly flinching at his words and replied “Surely Gabriel is blind! For you are neither made of wood or metal and look nothing like a canine.”

“I think you misunderstand me. Gabriel has shown no inclination towards the softer emotions and any expression of that towards Gabriel’s person would be unwanted.”

This was all too much and I needed time to process. I struggled to stay in character as I spoke. “Depart and I will see you again tomorrow.”

\---  
“Is it still Gabriel the angel today or have you changed the object of your pursuit?” I said as I caught sight of him.

“The person has not changed, but change the name to Dorian.” He replied.

“First an angle and now a gift!” I teased. “Your affection hath an unknown bottom. If you confessed your affections and it was returned? What then? How long you would have your interests after you have possessed your Dorian.”

“Forever and a day.” At this pronouncement he straightened his posture and stood firm.

“I think not. Men are April when they woo, December when they wed. You would lose interest. You would demand changes and restrict liberties?” I demanded.

“I have seen the best and worst of Dorian. Except for one thing, I would demand no changes. I can never lose interest for I am endlessly fascinated.”

“And when Dorian grows old and grey and cannot perform such feats you will no doubt lose interest?”

“Impossible. It is not just the great mind and impossible feats performed by the person that interest me, it is also the heart.”

\---  
The case, the original purpose of me being in this forest, has been long over and yet I continued playing my part. I found that I did not want to stop this new-found candidness with my dear Watson.

“What should we call the object of your adoration today?” I called out.

“Caelan”

“And if I was your dear Caelan, what would you say to me now?”

“Say? Dear sir, that is the wrong action. I would kiss you before I spoke.”

\---  
Each day I want to expose my secret and each day I couldn’t find the words. I resigned myself to fate before my courage faltered. Like before, we met and again he used a new name. 

“Would you promise, swear on your honor that, no matter the cost, you would tell your Raven what you have told me?”

“I promise”

\---  
The next day I sat the stump waiting. Ganymede was gone and I had taken back my consulting detective identity. Like all the days previous, Watson walked up the path to my position. As our eyes met, his smile shone brightly.

Cautiously, I started. “Watson, I…” 

Raising his hand, he cut me off. “Holmes, I knew it was you. The names I chose for you were veiled descriptions of you. You are dark haired and slender. You are God’s messenger of justice. You, all of you, are a gift.”


	12. The Life of an Umbrella

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: For the Want of a Brolly. Specifically, a _lost umbrella_.

The umbrella, with its black silk and worn wooden handle, seemed ordinary enough but the details spoke volumes. Holmes had stated on multiple occasions that the user imparts his individuality on an object that is used frequently. This umbrella had a rich history albeit only for those who could read the signs. No doubt that my friend could discern much about the personality of the umbrella’s owner, but this was an unfair task considering that he was the owner. 

I had the benefit of being intimately associated with many of the deeds that caused the dents, cuts, and wear. Take these, if I may borrow a phrase of his, features of interest. A minute hole in the black silk fabric was formed from a wayward spark one evening when we huddled around a fire. The silk covering one of the ribs was slightly frayed due to a ridiculous duel with me to prove a point. Another rib was slightly bent when defending us from a ruffian’s blow. One small dent of the many that marred the silver ferrule was caused by him emphasizing his distaste at the less than wonderful performance of a violinist. In total, these blemishes told of the man who faced many dangers and led an interesting and diverse life.

That same umbrella had an encounter with a carriage that resulted in its twisted and fractured frame. The sacrifice was needed, for it saved a child’s life, but Holmes was certain that the latest misuse, in a long stream of abuses, would be its last. Thus, he gave the umbrella up as a lost cause. My fingers moved over the distorted work of wood, metal, and cloth lost in memories of pre-carriage blemishes and I was determined to save it. 

The shopkeeper told me he had seen worse when I showed him what appeared to be a mangled bat and for some reason I believed him. The repairman must be some magician or magical creature to be able to restore this item. I left with my repaired item some time later and I smiled at all the possible adventures that this umbrella, no longer a lost cause, might appear.


	13. Meteor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: a picture of two puppies.   
> Retired Holmes and Watson watch a meteor shower.

picture prompt: [picture here](https://watsons-woes.dreamwidth.org/1669662.html)

This evening could not have been better. The weather was warm and crickets were chirping over the distant sounds of waves crashing. Cloudless sky and a waxing crescent moon were perfect conditions for viewing a meteor shower. Long, drying grass provided excellent padding under the quilt and we snuggled down to wait for the heavenly show to begin. Multiple meteors streaked across the sky filling my view and I cried out to see if Holmes caught a glimpse. He had not, for I had little over six feet of sleeping consulting detective curled up and using me as a pillow.


	14. An’ We’ll All Hang on Behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Ensemble. Include or mention at least five canon characters in your fic.  
> The Scotland Yarders sing “Roll the Old Chariot” at their holiday party.

I spied Inspector Peter Jones moving through the dense smoke and clusters of celebrating constables freely imbibing in the Christmas spirits. Inspector Bradstreet, Sam Brown, and Forbes broke their conversation about their holiday plans to watch as Jones mounted a chair. Holding his beer mug high he sang out “Oooh” in his baritone voice. The laughing and mummer of conversations slowly died down and all moving their focus to him. He breathed and called out “the great Scotland Yard wouldn’t do us any harm”. Our crowd knew exactly what to do and responded to his call by echoing his phrase once and twice gaining strength at each repeat. “An’ we’ll all hang on behind!” 

The beat of the music was being carried throughout the room like the pulsing of a heartbeat with the coordinated tapping of men’s feet emphasizing the rhythm. Encouraging the group, he waved his free arm around and shouted out the chorus “Come on and” as the men joined in. 

“we’ll ro-o-oll the old chariot along!  
An’ we’ll roll the golden chariot along!  
So we’ll ro-o-oll the old chariot along!  
An’ we’ll all hang on behind!”

Jones pointed at Constable Cook and he replied in his tenor voice “Oh, a plate of Irish stew won’t do us any harm” and the men repeated in kind. We were a single living being at that point, being kept alive by the rhythm of men’s voices. The chanting grew in intensity and Jones’ body seemed to be possessed with spirit of this shanty, he added his own harmonies to the chorus giving it an unworldly sound that memorized me and send chills down my spine. I thought that he’s certainly gotten better at this since last party.

“Oh, a pint from the landlord wouldn't do us any harm” by the gravelly voice of Constable Pollock was happily answered with cheers and clanking of glasses. Stanley Hopkins faltered and “Oh, a nice fat cook wouldn’t do us any harm” came out as more of a squeaky question than the saucy statement he was aiming for. “Oh, a roll in the clover won’t do us any harm” was suggested by Tobias Gregson and met with hoots and hollering from the inebriated crowd who sung it out with overwhelming gusto. 

“An’ we’ll all hang on behind!”

Jones called out to me “Lestrade!” 

My “Oh, a-nuther song wouldn’t do us any harm” was met with groans breaking the trance we all seemed to be under before the phrase was given the same treatment as the others. 

Jones flourished his hands like a conductor and we ended with our traditional verse of 

“If the devil's in the way, we'll stop and take him in  
If the devil's in the way, we'll stop and take him in  
If the devil's in the way, we'll stop and take him in  
And we won't drag on behind”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you need an earworm you can listen to this rendition of "[Roll the Old Chariot](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=49FWp7WLYKw)". It’s currently caught in my head and never coming out.


	15. Banned (part 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Blood on the Snow. Many fairy tales have their roots in horror stories. Others are bright and shiny and sparkly by design. Use a fairy tale or horror story as the inspiration for today's entry.
> 
> Continuing my Banned story. Holmes and Watson encounter Cox (again). 
> 
> Warning: PG for mild gore

"I will not stand for this! They are not welcome!" His balding head gleamed from perspiration and whatever attempts he had used to maintain control of his remaining hair was slowly becoming undone as his agitation increased. His narrow eyes peered over his half-moon spectacles daring us to cross him. 

"Curator, please, let me explain." Began Lestrade. We had already gone through this line of reasoning but maybe a second time would help Curator Cox understand. "Mr. Sherlock Holmes and his associate, Dr. John Watson, are well respected and have been invaluable in previous investigations. We have every reason to expect that one of your..."

The handkerchief was flapping about again. Since we got here, not only did the handkerchief make an appearance but the intensity of him waving it about increased. Perhaps he was using it as an elaborate semaphore signaling system to communicate to the guards. "This institution has no desire for their sort of persons to be here, no matter of their supposed good reputations. I have no reason to trust them! Now be gone and do not trouble us again."

Lestrade took a deep breath and began again. Curator Cox's face, already red from anger, was darkening further and his body was beginning to vibrate. 

Throughout these exchange Holmes said nothing. He was leaning his back against a doorframe with his chin sunk onto his chest. I could not see his eyes for his top hat was obscuring my view. His hands were overlapping on top of his cane. He was waiting, not moving a muscle since taking this position, as the energetic curator laid out his grievances and the inspector tried to persuade him. 

The lively exchange covered the sound of walking until the newcomer was only yards away. "Cox!" Said the newcomer. "That is quite enough! We do not want a repeat of the Iguanidon’s fibula and the small girl with the lollipop."

All of the color from Cox's face drained and he stood there with his mouth gaping. Remembering himself, he fought to recover his composure as he twirled his handkerchief around his in his fingers. 

Holmes reanimated and approached the newcomer. "Mr. Norman, so good of you to join us. We were just finishing our discussion with Mr. Cox. Now, would you be so kind as to lead us to the mineral exhibit hall so that we may use our skills to uphold the proud reputation of your museum."

Cox glared at us unable to voice his complaints after Mr. Norton's arrival. Lestrade and I quickly abandoned Cox and hurried after Holmes. 

\---  
The museum at night plays tricks on your mind. I kept glancing at the exhibits around me convinced that some had moved. I heard stories, or fairy tales, as a boy about the exhibits coming to life. The story goes that anyone left overnight would be captured by the museum exhibits and turned into an exhibit never to escape. This was a useful story to keep curious boys from running away from their mothers but not so helpful when one has an overnight vigil. 

Glass shattering woke me from my reticence. The sound came from another room in the museum. We abandoned our post in the mineral room and ran towards the source of the sound. The sound of a male screaming caused us to increase our speed. 

Holmes arrived at the room for the avian exhibit first and stopped at the doorway. Lestrade and I caught up and saw the gruesome scene. A man lay face down covered in glass and small taxidermy sparrows. His blood pooled over the white marble floor. On the other side, a man clad in black with black fabric obscuring his face was slowly backing away from the scene.


	16. Advertisement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Submitted Without Comment. Today's prompt is a picture prompt. Use it however it inspires you (you don't have to stay in the period of the picture). https://watsons-woes.dreamwidth.org/1676384.html
> 
> Holmes reading what is essentially modern late night TV infomercials.

The very excited sleuth woke me from my sleep. I rubbed my eyes at the unwelcome light from his candle and asked “Holmes, what time is it?”

“Three in the morning and, no, this is not for a case.” 

Slightly confused I said “Then why am I awake before the sun?”

“I could not sleep so stayed up reading advertisements. I think we needs one of these.”

In the candle light I made out “Vigor’s horse-action saddler”. 

“What? Are you insane? No. Holmes, go to sleep and we can discuss this properly in the morning. I’m going back to bed.”


	17. Remembrance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: A cardboard box. Whether it contains human ears or nothing at all, include a cardboard box somewhere in your entry.
> 
> A grieving Watson is making an addition to his box of mementos. 
> 
> PG-13 (Warnings: Not a happy fic. Mourning death of loved ones. Implied suicidal thoughts.)

There are four items on the rug in front of me. No, now there are three. The finished bottle of whiskey made a satisfying shatter when it met the back of the fireplace in my sitting room. The glass is currently full, but I'll take care of that soon. 

The day was warm and sunny, the exact opposite weather which would better fit my mood. I barely registered bird singing when I had enough courage to leave my rooms only to immediately return overwhelmed. I hid myself away in the dark sitting room barely remembering to turn up the gas when night fell. 

I am staring at, no through, the remaining items: the now half-full glass, my service revolver, and a brown cardboard box. I cradle the small metal instrument in my hand and use the other to mindlessly trace its hard features. A memory roars through my brain and I set the weapon down quickly as if it has burned me. Which is interesting because it’s the first physical sensation I register for today. My attention quickly moves to the cardboard box. 

When I was little, my mom kept an old candy cardboard box. I was told she started it when her grandmother died and continued adding small trinkets to memorialize events. Every relative that died was mourned with a trinket and an addition to her box. The only time I saw her open the box was to make an addition. I never understood why she would collect these items and not display them or look at them again. When she died, I buried her memories with her. 

I started my cardboard box with a pressed flower from my mother's funeral. Unlike her box, I kept small mementos from happy events like finishing my medical degree, moving into Baker Street, and marrying Mary. But I also remembered friends and family with small tokens like a coin from a dear army buddy, who I never saw again, and part of the watch from my brother. I memorialized Holmes with the cigarette case and letter he left me at Reichenbach Falls. A little later I added one of his pipes and a pressed flower from his memorial service. Some additions are more difficult than others. The worst by far was for Holmes.

Tonight, I am making an addition. I steel myself for the flood memories that will occur when I open the box and when I finally added my memory for my recently departed Mary. Like my mother, I never opened the box unless I was adding to it. It had taken the loss of the two who were closest to me to make me realize why she kept these memories buried and not displayed. Some memories are too painful to relive every day.


	18. City Chase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Watson's Woes is an alliteration. Whump Watson woefully with an alliterative injury of any severity. A swift stabbing or a gooey gumdrop? It's up to you!
> 
> Holmes and Watson chase after some evil doing brothers

My body raced after the Byron Brothers  
I careened past chemists and concert halls   
I darted by highways and hidden byways   
I wove past old maids and molding officers 

Even the follower, I chased the relentless Holmes   
I pursued the darkly clothed consulting detective through the concealed door   
I rushed forward after the sleuth's silent stalking stopped   
I tackled his target as Holmes tirelessly darted to and fro 

At home, I tallied the damage to my person  
The thruway caused tattering and tearing of tailored threads   
Extremities were exerted to the extreme   
Missteps in byways bludgeoned and my body bled


	19. The Guard’s Recommendation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I Came Here to Talk About the Red-Headed League and I’m Honestly Feeling So Attacked Right Now. Examine Holmes and/or Watson from the POV of one of their clients.
> 
> _One of these, whom I had cured of a painful and lingering disease, was never weary of advertising my virtues and of endeavouring to send me on every sufferer over whom he might have any influence_ \- The Adventures of The Engineer’s Thumb

The fourteen-twenty has just left the station when I spotted Thomas having a coughing fit. "I say, Thomas, that cough isn't getting any better. You'd best be careful around the passenger or you'll give them a fright with that sound. Have you seen a doc?" 

"No, no. I'll be fine. No need to go get all worried." He wheezed out in between coughs. The station was sparsely populated so his coughs reverberated in the nearly empty space. 

"I know!" I exclaimed. "You should go see Dr. Watson. He's a top-notch doctor. One of the finest, if you ask me. Did I tell you about the time when he cured my..."

"Yes, yes. Only yesterday you were telling us over tea."

"Alright. Oh! Nicest blokes you'd ever meet. I can't recommend him highly enough. Knows just how to make a gent feel comfortable. Most patient and understanding man. Gives you his full attention while you explain what ails you. Fair man, doesn't over charge a fellow for his services. I say, once we're done our dooties, I'll bring you round. I wouldn't mind checking in on the doctor myself."

"It's alright, don't trouble yourself, I have a get together at the pub at 8 o'clock"

This fellow needs me help and must be seen immediately, I thought to myself. "Not to worry, it’s not a trouble at all. I took Benson, you remember Benson, over the other day and Dr. Watson had him patched up and feeling better in no time. We can leave after our shift is over and you'll have plenty of time to get to the pub."

\----

"There you have it, Dr. Watson. That is why Thomas is here now." The guard declared when finished recounting his tale in a whisper as my new patient waited in my examination room.


	20. Purple Hyacinths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: ’Tis But a Scratch. We’re called Watson's Woes, folks... Have Watson choose to hide something bad from Holmes, or to minimize it, for whatever reason; it may or may not end well.
> 
> Holmes follows Watson and discovers something new about him. 
> 
> Warning for implied mom and child death.

The warm stone was a welcome relief to the chill breeze that was attempting to steal my scarf. I had concealed myself behind the stone after following Watson about London. I did not make it a habit to follow Watson on his daily routines but today I made an exemption for this had become somewhat of a tradition. I noticed, but thought nothing of it, immediately after returning to London from my encounter with the late Professor Moriarty. After a few years this habit of departing early, tracing through the same geographical regions, and returning in anguish only to quickly retreat to his room was concerning me.

I figured out the ‘where he was going’ years ago. From the mud on his boots, I knew he went near Kensington. He had sold his Kensington practice and rarely frequented the area. His knees showed signs of kneeling in a grassy area. While this was another helpful hint, I needed further info that I could gather only by following him. 

Now I had ‘the what he was doing’. From my hiding place Watson kneeled in front of a headstone and leaned a pair of pink carnations and purple hyacinths against it. In floriography, those blooms represented “I’ll never forget you” and “I’m sorry, please forgive me”. The stone was carved with two flowers and one was a severed bud. His fingers traced over the flowers before moving onto the words:

TO THE MEMORY OF MRS. MARY WATSON  
BELOVED WIFE AND MOTHER

Before I knew what I was doing, I abandoned my hiding spot and moved towards him. My movement caught his eye and he glanced in my direction. 

“I was wondering when you would follow me here.” He said as I drew near. Before I could ask he continued “There was a complication. I tried to help. I… It… My care. My treatment made Mary’s condition worse.” 

“The child?”

“He was lost during the complication.” 

I had already known about Mary but I didn’t know about the child. My unspoken question of ‘Why did you mention this before?’ I could already answer with ‘No opportunity”. We had an unspoken agreement not to discuss the time when I was away. 

We both stood there in silence as he completed his ritual.


	21. Nor A Sam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Music Hall. There's a list of music hall songs here on Wikipedia (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Music_hall_songs). Refer to one in your fic.
> 
> I now have “I’m Henery the Eighth, I am” stuck in my head (thank you prompt) and so does Holmes.

He had been sitting silently in the cab, contemplating I know not what, as we were weaving through the streets of London in a handsom. It was dark and I was lost. He stirred from his reverie as we passed a large building I barely recognized and stated “That is the music hall and our destination. We are to follow and take note of actions of our client’s husband. Hopefully we will leave before Champion sings ‘I’m Henery the Eighth, I am’ or I’ll be singing that tune for the rest of the night.” Unfortunately for Holmes, he was wrong.


	22. Disobey or Obey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Healer's Choice. One person Watson chose not to save.
> 
> Watson hears the same phrase twice in his life and reacts differently each time.

“Leave him! We have to move!”

Last time Watson heard that he was miles away from England and in the middle of a war. Last time he chose to ignore the command and attend the fallen comrade. Ignoring the command resulted in the death of fallen comrade and the one who issued the command as well as a permanent souvenir on his body that ached when it rained. 

This time he was in London pursuing a gang at the docks and caught in a fire fight. Bullets flew and one hit an officer near the crate Watson and Holmes were hiding. His body began to run on autopilot to go to the fallen officer. Holmes’ steal eyes were fixed on Watson as he issued the command and held his wrist tight. Watson began to struggle against the grip as another bullet struck the area where the officer fell. The grip tightened to impart an urgency to leave the immediate area and he allowed himself to be pulled away.


	23. Feather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I Could Really Use a Bit of a Kip Right About Now. Your prompt for today is: exhaustion.
> 
> Mary finds John asleep at his desk.

John grunted in protest as he swatted whatever was bothering his ear. 

"Morning." Mary said as she twirled a feather between her fingers. "Late night?"

John lifted his head from his desk and nodded. "What time is it?" Was mostly understandable as he rubbed his face. 

"Five past ten." She bent down and kissed the top of his head before continuing. "A Thursday. The twenty-fifth of April in the year of our lord one thousand eight hundred and eighty-nine. Which, if you have not heard the news, Mrs. Frasier declared the perfect date in her column today. Breakfast?"

"Yes, please. I need to finish this before lunch. I thought I could last night but my body had other plans."

Mary perched on the edge of the desk and studied her husband's face before stating. "You were working on notes for the patient with a damaged glosso-pharyngeal nerve?"

"How on earth do you know that?"

"Didn't you know? I've been practicing the mystical art of reading my husband's mind."

"You don’t say?"

"Yes, I've been secretly studying it for months. Honing my craft." She licked her thumb and leaned forward to rub it against John's forehead. "Of reading the mirror image of your handwriting." She showed him her thumb that was now black with ink. 

He groaned. "Serves me right for leaving my paperwork till the end after an exhausting day."


	24. Dusting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: No Ghosts, Demon Hounds, Vampires, etc. Need Apply. Well, what if they DID? Incorporate the supernatural in some way – either in person or in reference. 
> 
> _If we could fly out of that window hand in hand, hover over this great city…_ \- Case of Identity

Watson found Holmes staring at a small wooden crate and asks, “Did you order some new chemistry glass?" 

"What? Oh, no. The package is from a former client. Here is the attached note." Holmes extends his hand and offers a small folded sheet of foolscap which Watson gladly accepts. 

_Be warned, it is ill-tempered and vindictive. Don't let it out.  
-M. Darling_

"There is something living in there?"

"Presumably or it was alive." Holmes mumbles. His examination of the box halts when a faint bell noise is heard coming from the box. He proceeds to open and draw out a lamp that is already lit.

Watson stares at the greenish-yellow glowing lamp held high by his companion and begins to say "What a curious item" but is cut off by a the incessant tinkling noise. The small light is erratically moving inside the lamp and shedding tiny particles of light that fall onto Holmes' outstretched arm. Holmes looks at Watson's childlike expression of awe and a fond smile appears on his face. To his shock, he begins to float. 

"What the devil!" Holmes exclaims. "Watson, catch the lamp and try not to disturb the fairy to much." The small drop from Holmes to Watson's waiting arms jostled the lamp cause glowing particles to fall over Watson. He quickly and carefully places the lamp on the dining table. 

"Holmes, how did you do that?"

Holmes is floating above the table now trying to control his movements. This results in a somewhat spectacular summersault before it turns into some semblance of control. "I'm not entirely sure. The glowing dust stimulates the process of levitation but the act itself is requires another catalyst. "

"Well, I was just covered in the glowing particles and I'm not flying." Watson had to crane his neck to see his friend who is hovering parallel to the ceiling. 

"No, not yet. I didn't say anything aloud or do any special movements."

"What were you thinking?" Asks Watson to the floating Holmes. 

"Oh, it was a pleasant thought. That's it! Try thinking about something happy."

Watson screws his eyes shut and begins to think. It takes him no time to levitate and join his companion. They are giggling like school boys and slowly gaining better control. 

"Come, Watson, take my hand and let us fly through that open window. We shall float above this city and observe the inhabitants from above."

\---

Holmes wakes with a start to a darkened room. The only light comes from the glowing embers in the fireplace next to his chair. The windows are still shut and there is no mysterious box on the table. He grunts at his dream and wonders what he would find if he could fly over the city and see the infinitely strange things occurring below.


	25. Nudge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Tempting Fate. "What's the worst that could happen?" Use this however it inspires you.
> 
> Holmes, in his own way, encourages Watson to submit his first story. It's a 221B ficlet.

Watson is pacing the sitting room. He has been avoiding looking at a wrapped paper bundle he has placed on the table an hour before. He paces by Holmes, who is engrossed in a chemistry experiment, and Watson ignores the acrid odor from his latest exploits. 

_I will look over it again before I submit it._ Watson thinks. _A story can always be edited further. Maybe another draft will due._

"Watson." Holmes' voice startles Watson from his reverie. "What's the worst thing that could happen, hmm? The manuscript is rejected. You try another publisher. It is accepted but requires a revision to include a fanciful element of romance in a far-off land. That's for you to decide if you want to alter your manuscript."

Watson adds, "Oh! It's published but the publisher receives daily complaints about their slipping standards. I must change my name or move away from London due to public shame."

"Ridiculous. Well, since you are going out, can you purchase some more tobacco? I'm almost out and cannot leave for this experiment is time sensitive." 

"I wasn't planning on leaving."

"Of course. It will probably rain later. Now would be perfect if you could run that errand for me."

Watson continues pacing before giving up and prepares to go out. Before departing, he grabs the small paper bundle.


	26. My Master

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: The Devil's Caprice. You didn't think we were going to get out of JWP without a musical prompt, did you? Let some fiendishly difficult Paganini inspire you today: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vPcnGrie__M
> 
> At least it's not a flute. The violin's POV.

Now who's this? Oh, darling, your calluses and holding are all wrong. You have no clue how to make me sing. Ha! What can I say, you just aren't my type. It's not me, it's you, for I am perfection embodied. 

Where is the other one? The one whose long, thin fingers pull out the most exquisite notes from my body. His delicate fingers know how to do unspeakable things to me and I sing as I have with no other. We are one when he plays; I become an extension of his body. 

When we first met, his hands were faintly trembling... Habit? No, excitement. Who wouldn’t be affected to meet me? Well, you couldn't possibly be worse than my old master and I was so relieved to be so right. It was perfection to be held again. Not just held. Adored. Worshipped. Cherished. Your hands felt.... Trained. Those melodies made me sing, tremble, and sigh with the intensity that they were drawn from me. Perfection. 

At least I thought you would always be perfection. It is not polite to embarrass a lady. Those monotonous notes you force out of me torture my soul. Hours and hours of the unmelodious wailing. I was made for better notes you brute! 

He, my worshipper and my torturer, abandoned me on a pile of paper, as was his habit after one of those nasty sessions. Wrong Calluses found me and replaced me in my cradle where I stay until I am freed once again. 


	27. Paper-Fasteners and Chewing Gum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Improvised Tools. For a truly desperate person anything can be utilized as a tool or as a weapon - or a prompt.
> 
> Watson has help escaping a room by using only common clutter.

"How's he doing?" He states as he gestures to the crumpled form of Holmes in the corner of the dimly lit room. 

"Not well. We need to find a way to escape soon." Watson casts a concern look to his friend. "He needs more help that I can give him here. What are you doing?"

"Searchin' for supplies. I'm going to fashion an explosive out of Gem Paper-Fasteners, chewing gum, and shoelaces. We’ll be out in a jiffy." He begins sorting a pile of ordinary debris that occupies another corner of the room opposite Holmes. 

Watson is stunned. He decides not to comment at the eccentric man's statement and find his own way out of this locked room. He turns his attention to the door trying to find a weak spot. 

"Hey, does he have his lens on him? Oh! No worries. I can make one out of a kirby grip and a watch part.” Soon he was tinkering with some contraction at the door. Watson was distracted from the man’s explanation of how the contraption worked by the man’s odd haircut of short hair on the top and sides of his head and longer hair, that obscured his collar, in the back. Moments later, he is staring out the opened door in shock supporting the still unconscious Holmes.


End file.
